In the Wake of Legends
by chirusuwa
Summary: The non-existent Smash Brothers WiiU/3DS story mode is here, in the form of a new world-traveling adventure epic for the masses! Once the smashers find out that The Swarm is upon them, it's already too late. Determined to fight, the smashers set off on a quest to reclaim their stolen peace and save their homeland once more—but this time, victory might not be so simple.
1. Prologue

A/N: Hello, chirunos here. At the urging of a friend, I've decided to mirror this from ao3 and update as the story continues on.

 **More important note** : This is an AU. In a loose sense, more like, since I'm heavily drawing from the chronology of Smash games and the world of trophies presented in Subspace Emissary-but still an alternate universe, because everyone here has been born and raised in Smashworld, and Smashworld is not a land without legends and history, cultures and systems and government and all that jazz. Please enjoy!

* * *

When I was in school, I'd been taught the theory that every being—everyone with free thought—shared a hidden, unspoken commonwealth of knowledge and experiences that, most likely, is the reason why the same archetypes of characters are found in all kinds of stories and legends worldwide… and even in today's history-in-the-making, as they say, since there seems to be no shortage of heroes and heroines out to rid the world of evil.

Some months ago a single drop of evil stained the waters of our peace here in Smashworld, and, through a series of ordeals and toils, we have managed to reclaim what is rightfully ours.

As First Consort of a people wholly committed to Smashworld's development, I suppose I should have been more involved with this whole ordeal in the first place. But now, I can duly contribute—I have penned this story after weeks and weeks of listening (and re-listening) to the stories of everyone involved.

I've learned a great deal just by playing the scribe. It seems even the smallest things we do have quite the effect.

In any case, this is _their_ story. Not mine. For it was their hope, their friendship, their strength of will, that allowed us many more joyful days together. I have done my best to weave some comprehensive narrative of the aforementioned events, beginning with that morning that would go so wrong. And then, from there, both you, dear reader, and I can only watch as the story unfolds.

I shall say nothing more from here. To speak more on this matter might be "messing with the passage of fate," as a dear friend of mine would say.

What you _will_ to do with this after reading is a matter that is yours entirely.

— _Signed by the Author,_

 _M. Antiqua_


	2. I

It would be long before the full glory of morning. The shadows of night were still idly stretched over the lands of Smashworld—nestled in the trees, hiding beneath the mountainsides—but the dim line of sunrise pressed on, growing ever brighter.

Where the wilds were only beginning to awaken, Ike stood watching the long, jagged line of canyons in the distance. Tracing their dips and pulls in the desert rock with his eyes, he sighed. "Mist," he said without moving. "Are you still awake?"

His younger sister had stubbornly insisted on accompanying him while he was getting his things together earlier; since leaving their settlement, she'd taken on a quieter lull. It took a few moments for her to realize Ike had spoken to her. "Yes…" she murmured, then she stretched her arms, yawning. "I'm awake. See?"

"You can head back to the town if you want, you know," he said, turning to her.

"I do know." Mist set her mouth in a straight line—an expression surprisingly far from a child's pout—and reached out to fix the draping of her brother's red cape. "But you spent weeks moping about whether you were going to accept the silly old letter, so I'm here to stop you just in case you change your mind again."

It was the day of Smashworld's fourth Rostering—trophies, passing committee evaluation, would be registered to join the professional league. Those smashers would then become part of the world-famous tourneys that embodied the very spirit of competitive fighting—and it was this way of life that so many trophies living in Smashworld held dear to their hearts, aspiring to carve their own stories out of its splendor.

"Darn fold... " Ike muttered, seeing the envelope in his grasp was already starting to crumple. He pressed it flat between the pads of his fingers, and, holding it with both hands, frowned when he heard the paper crinkle the wrong way.

Mist held out her hand. "Here, let me hold it."

Ike let out a breath. "No, no, I'm—I'll fix it when I board."

She simply smiled, brushing her auburn hair away from the gentle wind. "Okay, then. Could you tell me a little about what the train's like?"

It was a giant, running the length of two stadiums, and it was by far the finest any trophy fighter had ever seen in Smashworld _,_ much less boarded. It sparkled as if some celestial being had painted it with the nighttime sky: black, with ethereal swirls of nebulae and the silver pepper of stars.

The train was created to soar. Every man-made structure that levitated used special technology—named _volans nike_ for gods-knew-why—to channel natural magic into giving things anti-gravitational properties. And so the train roared through the air with its wheels spinning fervently, leaving white steam puffs dissipating into shimmering stardust.

The older denizens called it nostalgic—steam-powered trains were primitive compared to the much more common light rails that snaked across the world of trophies. The newer immigrants called it fitting—its engineers were a small division of the committee that governed Smashworld, comprised of some bold and auspicious personalities that sought to create a symbol of the might and the awe-inspiring abilities of the smashers it carried.

Though its first flight had only been some months ago, the train had already taken on a name, fashioned after the land in which it had been born: the Smash Express.

The train was supposed to be entering the canyons within the hour, and the very name itself was just a journalist dub to Ike—something the tabloids presented as a shrouded mystery.

"I mean, tabloids are just paragraphs of nonsense, of course, but—"

"What are you grinning about, Ike?" Mist asked. She'd been watching Ike patiently while he told her all he knew about the train.

"Grinning?" Ike cleared his throat. "I wasn't grinning."

"Sure you weren't," she said, dismissing the question with a laugh. "I can't imagine being on a train like that. And to think that won't be the end of all the amazing things you'll see!"

"Not all at once," Ike said. "Match season doesn't start for another month."

"But the Rostering is fun, right? You told us it had a lot of interesting things. New people, new places, new ways to set things on fire."

Ike mirrored her smile. "I guess."

Mist studied his face for a moment. "Are you nervous?"

Last night, the Greil Mercenaries were told they would need to limit the jobs they took on for a few days until their soon-to-be leader returned. Not that a hiatus posed any kind of problem—Ike's fortunes from successful sport alone were enough to buy tens of castles—but now there was an emptiness that only the familiar sound of his comrades' voices could fill.

Perhaps that was why he couldn't stop fidgeting and Mist seemed to keep bugging him for it. "No," he half-lied. "I just don't know when it'll get here."

"Oh, come on," Mist said. "Details, details—"

"Are important, too. Sometimes there are things you just have to know."

Mist's eyebrows went up in confusion. "… Does it really matter?"

"Uh." Ike swiped dark blue tresses of hair from his eyes. "Just in case. Schedules and preparations and all that."

"Just in case, huh…" Mist looked away from her brother, pondering. Several moments passed before she spoke up again. " _Just in case,_ Ike, there's something you've got to hear." She waited for Ike to give her his full attention, and then she smiled. "We'll be there believing in you. We always will!"

Ike gazed at her for some moments before turning away, mumbling, 'Thanks, I know.'"

Mist giggled at seeing him try to hide his smile. "You're welcome. I just thought you might need a little cheering up."

And they waited, resorting to counting the calls of the young Fletchling that, since it was the end of summer, were hatching in great numbers.

They'd counted twenty before there was a _hiss_ and a clacking and rumbling of machinery (all for effect, as Ike guessed) growing louder with each passing moment. The siblings watched the Express approach them; it was a locomotive definitely covered in outer space, moving as if following invisible tracks. When the wheels slowed to a stop the train was soon hovering tens of feet in the air above them, and they stared up at it, eyes widening—it really did look as majestic as Ike had heard, after all—then someone hurled a simple ladder made of braided rope and dark wood over the side.

So much for being advertised as the latest and the best technological achievement of the decade. Or, as Ike then muttered to himself. "This can't be the same train."

Mist cleared her throat after a few beats of silence. "I think it is."

She _was_ right. There was no conceivable reason anyone would come all the way out here today other than to receive Ike. And no amount of incredulous staring would bring him onboard, so he began to scale the wooden planks, slowed by the weight of his own deliberate caution.

The planks felt rough, but not splintered, and they bent dangerously under his weight. Grimacing, he thought to ask if something had broken, if he needed to wait for something else—but the rope ladder began to retract back into the train car, accelerating with each passing second, and all was forgotten except holding on for dear life.

He made a frantic scramble onto the floor when it was within reach. Finding his legs were on stable flooring, he collapsed against the nearest wall and drew out a long breath.

Mist called out to him. "Ike! Are you alright?"

He turned himself over and leaned out the doorway. "I'm—I'm fine," he called. The floor rumbled beneath him and he realized the train was beginning to move. "Tell Titania I'll be back as soon as I can!"

"Don't worry about us!" Mist yelled back. "Just don't get yourself into any kind of trouble!" And so they exchanged their goodbyes, and soon the wide and wild deserts were a small and faraway patch of brown.

Ike sighed, returning to the memory of the train ladder: not quite a warm welcome back to the world of smashing.

He rose, looking for somewhere to seat himself. The train had well-cushioned ivory benches affixed to its carmine walls, and they were nearly vacant. Most of the fighters were clumped into one large flurry in the center. They moved freely about the floor, in and out of the doors connecting the cabs, talking excitedly among themselves. Watching them, Ike sat down nonchalantly.

The envelope was the only thing he'd brought with him today, much like the other fighters here, as was instructed of them in the invitation letter. He looked over his garments, making attempts to properly smooth the creases out of the paper in his lap. Yesterday he found the outfit slightly falling apart, after a year or two of random usage—he only ever wore them in tournaments and repaired them even less frequently. Today, they fit a little more snugly, thanks to Mist, and he decided he'd finally learn to sew after got back home.

Ike narrowed his eyes at the envelope. He figured it was probably better to just utilize his Index; it was the years-old worldwide system of personal inventory, recently made usable to Smashers after the discovery of—Ike wasn't sure what—something like _cold fusion_.

Since all participating fighters had to be unarmed the letter had also stated that all inventories would be under high surveillance. In other words, left empty. But Ike had figured something as simple as the letter itself wouldn't do any harm.

The envelope and letter began to dissolve into small dust, taking on a golden glow. Then the particles formed a small stream in the air, spiraling into itself faster and faster, until it disappeared altogether in a self-contained flash. Ike reclined into the bench with a satisfied grin.

As he swept his gaze around the room, he readjusted himself to the fighters he could remember. A curious menagerie, at a glance; they varied not only in build, but in personality, color, and species. Basic facts and past experiences came back to him easily, but nothing more: besides competing, he'd only made light talk with most of them since joining the professional fighting league a few years ago. He preferred, after all, to spend his time alone than with the few close friends he had—

Something tugged at Ike's cape; its red fabric gave off some sheen in the sun. Ike turned his head to see Pikachu greeting him, bouncing on the bench.

"Hey, little guy." Ike returned the sentiment, reaching over to give the yellow pokémon a head-scratch. Pikachu responded with a short burst of sparks from its red cheeks, enthusiastically beaming. Then it twitched its ear, turning its head away for a few moments. It gave Ike a friendly nuzzle before hopping off the seat and becoming lost in the hustle and bustle of the train car.

Ike supposed he could indulge in warmer greetings, now that he was going to be on his own for quite a while.

Were his friends elsewhere on the Express? He craned his neck to see over the crowd. Prince Marth reclined in the opposite corner. He was intently listening with a few other, newer fighters to one of the more famous regulars—a green-clad swordsman—who was moving with great, exaggerated motions, likely telling some sort of story.

There was no one else visible besides Marth, who looked already looked rather busy. Ike thought he was comfortable right where he was, anyway. The car still had the sea of trophy fighters to move through, and it seemed the other side of the car was much noisier. Perhaps it was better to go say hello later.

"Still being the wallflower, I see." The sudden voice caused Ike to whip his head again, and he jumped at the presence of Meta Knight next to him. The round swordsman donned his armor and cape, his newly-polished mask catching some of the ambient light. Though he was small, the boldness of his appearance made him stand out easily.

"Uh… hi to you, too," said Ike, regaining his composure. He felt the train slow to a stop, likely to board another fighter. "And no. Nothing's ever been wrong with resting in a corner, especially when there's too much commotion to deal with—" he paused to glance around him as if to reaffirm his convictions "—so, uh, how long until the ride's over?"

"Not very long," Meta Knight answered. "This is actually the last leg of the route."

"What?" Ike glanced around again, this time with his eyes alert and his mouth agape. "But—but lots of regulars aren't here, and I thought there would be a lot less free space when I boarded."

"Your eyes aren't deceiving you. We are missing a few veterans. Apparently they all sent in their registrations early."

Ike slowly sank back into his seat. "Okay, then. Still a pretty noisy crowd." He looked to Meta Knight with a half-smile. "Which means _I'm_ perfectly content right here."

Meta Knight's body tilted up and down in some kind of motion resembling a nod. "Fair enough, since I wholeheartedly agree. Everyone in your mercenary band doing well?"

"Yeah, they're— _ow._ " Ike had moved his arm to stretch it outside the nearest window, but a sudden shock quickly made him withdraw it. He glimpsed a faint pane of light that shimmered from one end of the window frame to the other. "A barrier," he muttered, rubbing his elbow.

"Safety measures," Meta Knight commented, "although I'm assuming the committee is more concerned with the possibilities of trophies looking for opportunities to fight other than fighting in the arenas."

"So we have to use rickety ladders to climb up onto the train—" Ike gestured towards the windows, this time carefully so as not to hurt himself, "—but the train's got high-end security."

"That was Kirby, as expected. He and Mega Man thought it a good idea to play with the teleport systems."

"Of course they did," Ike replied, scratching his head. "... Who's Mega Man?"

"He worked with the D-rank league—I believe he got stolen away to the southern research facilities before the complex got blown to rubble a while back."

"D-rank? The ones who evaluated me the first time?"

"Precisely that." Meta Knight turned himself around to peer out the window; the train had begun to accelerate. "The same stuffy personalities you kept complaining about during that whole subspace fiasco."

Ike let out a disappointed groan. "No one ever gets to move up unless they're some prissy know-it-all who loves to sit all day and tell others _just_ the right way to fight. Even though they're not the ones going out to battle hundreds of times a week."

"If you want to work for the committee, then possibly. Look at Marth." Meta Knight, still looking outside, waved a stubby arm towards the end of the train car where the blue haired prince was still seated.

"I wasn't talking about him," Ike huffed.

"But you could have," Meta Knight said, supposedly shrugging, "if circumstances were different. The boy's practically begging for a spot. The only reason they won't let him in is because he's still got a burning passion for battle."

The mercenary chuckled at the remark, feeling relaxed for the first time in a while. "I hope it stays that way."

* * *

Marth, poised and regal, had been patiently listening ever since Link opened his mouth, saying, "You think fighting one hydra is traumatizing? Try fighting four of them. All at once."

The young knight of Hyrule, scion to a lineage of heroes etched in histories even before those of Smashworld's, had been like a sibling to Marth since they were young fighters, and yet, there was always something new to expect. _Of course_ , it was Link's own personal talent to be an all-star in more than his Smash career. He was passionate enough to be raw and authentic, imaginative enough to be bright and mesmerizing.

But his audience was small, today; Link had decided to entertain the newer fighters, who watched him just as intently as the veterans.

"Somehow, all the gigantic beasts seem to come your way," Marth said.

The story was now somewhere in the middle of the narrative, and Link paused to smile at him. "I guess slaying evil is the thing I do best." Then he continued, his small corner of the train still energized.

As Link spoke, Marth noticed the Smash Express was easing to a stop. He studied the doorway that was hidden behind the clamor. He wondered—he hadn't gone to meet other novice smashers since arriving. How were they being integrated? Had they made themselves comfortable already, or were some raring to start a fight? And, if the latter were true, who would stop them?

"… And then I was more scared about my lunch getting wet—because what was I going to give to the very princess of Hyrule herself?—than about this great, _biiiig_ jaw about to rush at me, and—"

"Tell me how the story ends, if you will. I'm going to go see if there are any new arrivals," Marth said, somewhat direct in his tone. Apparently, a tree of planning had worked itself out in his head.

Link noticed the crafty smile on the prince's face. "Ooh, I want to meet them too," he said, genuine interest in his voice—but he also knew he'd be leaving his audience hanging in the air, so he shook his head. "Wait, seriously? Come _on._ I'm just about to get to the juicy stuff." He made a frown, but quickly reshaped it into a grin when Marth raised an eyebrow at him. "Fine, okay, you do your thing. Have fun."

Marth stood up, his dark blue cape billowing behind him. Turning to the audience, he gave a gentle wave. "My apologies, everyone. I hope you remain well."

Link watched the prince stroll away through the ever-changing movement of characters on the Express, and then he turned back to his audience. "I'm sorry. He runs this semi-official training thing… you know how tough of a fighter you've gotta be to get into the top leagues. So when he gets the chance to, uh, make some friends, there's no stopping him."

"And there's no stopping you, too. Come on!" an angel named Pit urged excitedly. "All those months of vacationing left me itching for a thrill! Not to mention this year being a new Rostering and all."

Pit was leaned forward on the bench with the pink, round creature Kirby on his lap, the latter of the two brilliantly smiling with wide eyes. The self-titled princess of the cosmos, Rosalina, had been relaxing against the wall adjacent to Pit's with her hands clasped together into her lap. She was seated by the villager boy from Smashville, and after him was Little Mac, the teenaged boxer from the one of the cities in the east. Mac sat the farthest, seeming to slump against the wall, but his attention was as stolen as anyone else enthralled in the story.

"What happened next?" Pit urged.

"Hold on." Link looked up for a few moments, appearing to connect imaginary dots with his hands. His expression brightened suddenly. "Oh, yeah, yeah. The biggest one. Literally the size of ten giants. As big as a god."

"Whoa!" Pit reeled back in his seat. "Didja get to see that one's head up close?"

Link puffed his chest out. "You bet. Teeth the size of Bowser, maybe—and there were just rows and rows of 'em all stuffed into the things' mouths!"

"Huh. I punched out tons of teeth in my entire career. You can ask Doc when he gets here," Mac remarked. "And he'll tell you I never seen teeth that big."

"Me neither," said Link, "until the moment it stared me down, and there was this spark in all six of its eyes. Imagine the rush, all that _im-pend-ing_ doom, of a dragon head flying towards you at the speed of sound, _times three_." He leaned in towards the villager with a menacing grin, and the boy shrunk back involuntarily.

Rosalina smiled sympathetically at the villager, then carefully folded her arms across her chest, her azure dress shimmering as it moved. "I'm curious as to how exactly you out-sped it, then." Her dulcet voice had a twinkling quality to it, made even more discernible from the way she spoke with an easygoing manner.

To Link, the pointed look in her expression just made her sound intimidating. "O—kay," he said, looking at her uneasily, "maybe not exactly the speed of sound, but still fast enough to give anyone a run for their money. And then—" he pantomimed firing an arrow from a bow, "— _whooosh_. Sunk 'em right in one of the eyes. I was just standing there in awe. It was thrashing so hard it'd knocked all the other ones around it senseless! So much that they all turned in on 'em and—" he thrust his bared hands at each other, making some kind of primitive growl, "—had all nine heads locked on to his necks. Let me tell you, I'd never seen anything so… gross."

Pit made a disappointed face. "That's it? Gross? Not totally cool-looking?"

"It's a monster. What else did you expect?" Link said, suddenly blunt. Then he laughed. "But I think _you_ of all angels should know that… and, besides, those details might be better for a campfire story." He drew in a breath, allowing the rest of the narrative to float into his mind—

He froze, because it didn't; the last thing he did after shooting one of the heads was make a regrettably frantic escape—in fact, the whole encounter was really just one hydra to start with.

He wasn't one to leave his story hanging, though, so he finished: "And then… and then… those hydras decided they were full and sorta…sank back into the lake. I'll tell you how it ends next time I visit there." Link winced at hearing the hesitation in his words.

The other four sat in silence, seemingly in a trance, before a wave of discontent washed over them. It was made public by Kirby's indignant-sounding whine, but no one paid the pink ball any attention.

Rosalina blinked at Link, her eyes widening. "No battle to the death? No fight for glory in the eyes of the goddesses?"

"I wish, but it's the idea that counts, right?" Link chuckled, albeit he looked sidelong at the lot in front of him. "Weird. I haven't had any of _those_ fights since a few years ago."

Pit, who'd slumped against the corner, instantly jerked forward. The eagerness burst through him: "Oh, yeah! I remember! Smashworld army against the evil, terrible crime bosses of the underworld!"

"Subspace," Link corrected.

"Same difference," Pit retorted hastily. He looked up to address the entire group. "You know, you guys are lucky you have the home border keeping you safe." He shivered. "Subspace came in from the Lands Beyond. Imagine how horrible it was."

Mac stretched his arms behind his back. "Honestly? They completely destroyed half of New Pork City. One a' my favorite arenas got crushed."

Link rubbed his chin. "Right, right, and the committee let you and your trainer stay at the Nintendogs' super fancy home," he said, sounding intrigued. "Nice work on showing off your moves to get into the Assist League that one time."

"Now you're one of the big guys!" Pit exclaimed. Mac grinned from ear to ear in response.

Rosalina tilted her head to one side. "I was still training amongst the stars during this period. Although I did hear about that Subspace army ordeal in passing from dear Olimar's crew—the little ones, I mean." She smiled warmly. "To think such an adventure presented itself among you all."

"Wow. You can communicate with Pikmin?" Pit asked.

"No, not me," said Rosalina, shaking her head. "My Lumas can, though, and I'm glad. The captain's ship had a bit of trouble with the navigator—a few tiny bugs! I suppose I had a stroke of luck."

"Isn't it great how anything can happen?" said Link. He made a half-shrug. "You know, Founders forbid, but if I can get caught up with four huge three-headed snakes, then the world isn't much safer—what are you going to do when the next big thing happens?"

"Gee," Pit said. "When you say it like that it sounds like you're asking for a best hero competition."

"What?" Link drew back, surprised. "No way! Not on my personal agenda, anyway." Then he leaned forward a little, directing his attention more to Pit than the others, and quietly added, "Besides. I've already got everyone at home and their great ancestor pinning me to that Hylian hero's crest. Imagine if I actually proved them right."

Pit grinned knowingly, though his expression resembled more of a smirk. "Ha! Yeah," he laughed. He struck a prideful pose. "You mean you're admitting the only one winning any best hero competitions'll be _yours truly_."

Mac looked out at the rest of the train. "Best hero competition? Ain't that what Smash battling already is, kinda? Lotsa people came here for being a savior or a leader or something else famous." He fixated his gaze on Pit. "That _does_ mean you, too. When you introduced yourself at the start of this train ride, you said you went out to save the Lands Beyond not too long ago."

Pit folded his arms. "Yeah… but I did because I had to. I bet you could ask anyone here and they'll tell you that, no matter what amazing thing brought them to Smash with us, they did it because they had to." He patted the top of Kirby's head. "Even the smallest of us."

"A little goes a long way," Link said. His eyes took on a new, inspired shine. "But a _real_ Smashworld hero? Those are people like the primes… or like the gods. Trophies who go above and beyond. Most of _us_ are just celebrity names that get passed around like, 'Hey, did you hear about Luigi? He saved his brother by becoming the ultimate ghostbuster!'"

"Do tell me what it is that you _are_ looking for, then," Rosalina said to both Pit and Link, "Because many of us newcomers are actually aware you all have already gone lengths to save Smashworld at least once."

"Well, for me, it's to do something that'll someday land in the land-wide history books," Pit answered decisively. "An entry dedicated to the absolutely _awesomest_ hero of all time. Smashworld wouldn't be the same without them."

Mac lowered his brows. "And that's doing something bigger than stomping out a big bad like Tabuu?"

Pit responded with emotion in his words. "Haven't you ever _felt_ what it's like to win? So much win that you just want to cheer for yourself over and over again? Wouldn't it be great to experience that, but _so much better_? I mean—"

"Whoa," Link said, eyes wide. "We still have a whole Rostering to get through first. But hey, you _could_ start off your big thrill quest by culling Smashworld's hydra population."

"No, all out it is!" Pit exclaimed. "I'm hoping for something really weird, like nasty three-headed _ice shooting lions with wings_ to take over!"

Link saw Pit was looking at him expectantly and he grinned. "You could… go bigger. Space pirates _riding_ ice shooting lions that can fly. Maybe leading an army of giant people with huge mouths."

"All controlled by a robot dog overlord?" Pit was fluttering his angel wings.

"A whole boatload of them, bud."

The two exchanged high-fives with cheery laughs, and the other four seated there joined in the merry scene.

"Speaking of," Pit said after the group's cheer had fallen into a lull, "I just remembered I've never actually _told_ you guys about what I was doing out in the Lands Beyond."

"Whatever it was, it must have been quite the adventure," Rosalina mused. "The places outside Smashworld seem to exist in universes where the rules are written differently. Even from space, it looks like Smashworld is—is just one light in a dense mess of nebulae."

"Now there's an idea," Link said, grinning at Pit. "Why don't you tell us about what's outside in all that space-y mess?"

"Really? You want _me_ to tell a story?" Pit exclaimed.

"Sure. Whenever you want to," Mac said. The villager nodded along with him as well.

Smiling at them, Pit cleared his throat. "Well, it all started when a few Underworld troops started showing up outside the Temple…"

In the distance, some train cars' lengths away, a whistle sounded. It echoed over the forest below, a full and fervent tone, and all of the passengers halted their ruckus. A ripple of silence befell them for a few moments, leaving only a ghost of noise.

Pit jumped up with a sudden flap of his wings. "We're at the stadium already!" Kirby, who'd since fallen asleep in Pit's arms, rolled over onto the floor, calling out angrily after the angel who was already pushing his way through the car. Pit turned around momentarily. "Sorry there, Kirbs—ah, s'cuse me—but I gotta go retrieve the committee personnel. Lady Palutena says they're waiting—ouch—back at the Coliseum for me to give 'em the green light. I'll be back before anyone begins making any big announcements!" He'd already been swallowed in the rush to exit the train cars, but Link, Rosalina, Little Mac, and the villager waved goodbye at him anyway.

"Well then, after you three," Link said cheerfully. He stooped to pick up a still-irritated Kirby, who puffed his cheeks out at the Hylian. Rosalina and the villager boy got up and fell somewhere into the stream of smashers, chattering between themselves. Little Mac eagerly stepped towards someone near the back who was offering him a chocolate bar while sending friendly greetings, and then Link merged into the crowd.

After a few seconds of adjusting to the hustle and bustle, Link looked ahead. Marth was a few persons in front; he appeared to be conversing casually with that one mercenary with the headband, and Meta Knight was hovering a few feet above them. With his arm still wrapped around Kirby, Link ducked forward under Princess Peach's parasol and squeezed past Samus in her Zero Suit—"Hello, ladies, hope you've had a nice morning," he greeted—and playfully nudged the prince with his elbow. "Hey, here's the story for you: they all died."

Marth looked over at him, unsuccessfully suppressing a grin. "I don't recall asking for a one-sentence summary."

Meta Knight then alighted onto Link's head, staring down at him. "Still haven't lost your sunny disposition," he said coolly. "But you seem to have lost your mind, too."

"Morning. And I'm working on it—oh, uh…" Kirby had wriggled himself free, much to Link's surprise. The pink fighter dashed over to Pikachu, who'd been riding on the pokémon Lucario's shoulder. "I just started telling big monster stories a little while ago." Meta Knight said nothing in response and Link leaned over a little, looking past Marth. The mercenary was silently observing the exchange among the other three sword fighters with a hint of amusement in his expression. Link waved at him with a "Good morning to you, too—" and then he faltered.

Arching an eyebrow, Ike said his name.

"Ike!" Link repeated after the mercenary, laughing nervously. "Sorry, I've been re-meeting a lot of smashers today. Names slip right past me!"

Meta Knight tapped a foot while resting on Link's head, displacing some of the Hylian's blond hair. "Instead of remembering everyone's names, you should stick to what I do: naming people by the most noticeable feature in their appearance. For example—" he pointed at Mario up ahead, who'd been heading out with his usual bouncing gait. "Jumpy Jumpers." He pointed at Princess Zelda further away. "Royal Pains."

"Hey." Link shot a glare upwards. "Call Zelda that again and we'll see who's got royal pains."

"Royal Pains isn't too far off from being spot on," Marth said before Link shifted his glowering expression in the prince's direction. "I mean, it's not a bad strategy to use. I might call myself something ridiculous like Big Winner."

"More like Big Mistake," Meta Knight snickered.

Marth scowled at him. "Then I suppose I can rename _you_ something like Baseball Bat."

"Strike one," Ike joined in, grinning smugly at Meta Knight.

The bat ball then made a glorious leap off Link's head, swooped behind Ike, and yanked the swordsman's dark headband with enough momentum to send him staggering backwards. Marth and Link shared a wide-eyed glance, stopping to help Ike right himself.

"And he's out," said the prince. Ike growled after Meta Knight, but the masked swordsman had already flown towards the front of the crowd, noting to himself that some ideas were better left unshared.

Nearly all of the fighters had exited the train by now. From the loading dock, the great Midair Stadium wavered as a mysterious shadow in the distance, filling many hearts with bubbling anticipation.

Samus and Peach looked out at the vast expanse of clouds before them; they spotted an exquisite land mass not too far from the dock.

"My, I do love what they've done with the Battlefield this year," said Peach, twirling her parasol in her hands. "I feel like anyone could get lost here!"

With every Smash Brothers tournament, the committee-appointed organization in charge of overlooking it established a competitive stage. Such a stage had toured Smashworld for the past three incarnations, and now was no different. With _volans nike_ , the immediate environment was fitted together into a variety of weathered stone walkways and vine-covered viewing platforms that littered the sky—but, though they were beautiful, all eyes rested on the great piece of land hewn into a battlefield for smashers to use.

This year, the official stadium expanded upon the previous design of a lost time belonging to the Founders themselves, rubble and ruined coliseums alike towering with reimagined might. The design had expanded quite literally, too, as this year the battlefield was almost three times as large as previous incarnations. Together with the surrounding islands that floated around like stray colonies, the battlefield evoked the image of a barren, ancient city in the clouds, a ghost of former glory days past.

"Yeah," Samus agreed. "It's messy-looking in a good way here. But these guidelines are solar-powered, so losing your way is, well... a lost cause." Indeed, venerability met the future of change in sacred unity here: synthetic fixtures created glowing lines in the old rock and marble, tracing symmetrical patterns along the series of hovering masses.

A lengthy light bridge, pulsating with a golden yellow color, connected one end of the loading dock to the battlefield. Eventually all of the smashers poured onto the floating land mass, and some of the more seasoned individuals immediately made themselves comfortable on stray slabs of rock or, if they were lucky, felled pillars. The others followed suit over the next few passing minutes.

* * *

Little Mac had been staring over the sea of clouds for what seemed like forever until a loud sigh, unquestionably exasperated, shook him from his daydreaming.

Link had been nearby, pacing back and forth across the stones with his arms crossed. His outburst caused him to stop in his tracks, but only after he'd noticed that a few fighters had drawn back, staring at him with wary eyes. One new fighter, a pale woman who asked others to refer to her as the "Trainer," sternly chided the Hylian: "It is recommended that you exercise discretion with your power as a trained veteran." She sounded virtual, like a mechanical announcer at a staged event. The peremptory edge to her voice sent shivers up Link's spine.

"Uh…my apologies, ma'am," he replied, though he grimaced as he said it.

Samus had been sitting next to the Trainer with her legs hanging off the edge of the island. She blinked on recognizing Link, then made some kind of apologetic smile to the woman. "No need to harp too much on that one," Samus said, pointing to the swordsman, "since he's usually calmer than he is right now." Then, she turned to Link. All the years of bounty hunting had taught her the importance of minute details, and after a moment of reading Link's expression she pursed her lips in a tight line. "It's been a while since I last saw you and now you're in a buzz. What could you possibly be worried about? Did you leave the water running at home?"

"No," Link muttered. "I, um… this is the first time the committee's late. Registering sessions should be over before noon."

Samus glanced up at the sun. "It's nowhere close to noon."

"Close _enough_." Link looked up, frowning.

Mac cleared his throat. "'S just a little late. Rosterings don't happen every year."

Samus nodded in the boxer's direction. "What he said."

Link pouted. "Sure, I mean—" he sighed "—sorry. It's just me overthinking."

Samus heard a nervous edge in his voice that seemed rare to surface from someone like him. She nodded at him, softening her gaze for a few moments. "It's a day of celebration, right? I'm sure it'll be like old times."

"I... "

"Like old times," Samus insisted.

The Trainer nodded, albeit with clear confusion. "The blue girl's warnings are exemplary. It would be advisable to—" her metallic voice was jarred by a loud _boom_ rocking the island. The sudden noise caused a cacophony of confused yells and excited murmurs.

Samus scrambled away from the edge, and she gratefully used Link's outstretched hand to pull herself up. "Great Founders," she whispered. "Is that the committee—ARGH!" She stumbled forward as another tremor shook the floating battlefield.

"Look, over there!" someone cried, soon mirrored by others and followed by numerous gasps.

The smashers could only watch as a massive shadow began to assemble over the island where they were gathered. Up in the air, countless chunks of rock—step stones, bits of dirt, and large, broken pieces of architecture—crashed together, gnawing at themselves and gathering into a shapeless figure dwarfing even the stadium in might.

Mac looked at it with bewilderment. "This planned?" he asked. The question should have been mocking, but he was completely serious.

"I don't know. It... sure is a big welcome back from the committee," Samus replied, her confidence slowly failing.

Then, a great _roar_ erupted from it, and the broken mass fell inwards all at once. Its parts spun round each other, melting together, reshaping themselves until they at last formed something faintly recognizable: a mocking echo of a giant, armored soldier. Twilight-colored flames flickered across where the soldier's head towered, its face featureless except for its eyes that burned with a white-hot intensity.

There above the smashers loomed an architectural titan, ruins and rock welded together in a frightening display of raw power.

* * *

A/N: Ike is still the one from Brawl, aka the one from Path of Radiance. Smash4 Ike/Radiant Dawn Ike will happen, though.


	3. II

A/N: Hello!

These earlier chapters are maybe a couple years old, to be honest—the earliest drafts were written long before Smash 3DS even came out. Even with all the editing there's still heavy traces of where I was originally going to take the story, and which characters were supposed to be at the focus… but now this is only one half of where the plot branches.

Complexity? Absolutely. Necessity? Not too sure.

And yes, to reply to a recent review, some characterizations are deviant from the norm! But I'm very happy it's enjoyable haha

* * *

The stone soldier hovered high in the air, unmoving. Dirt rolled off its form and fell onto the battlefield in small clods. Its size was large enough to block out the sunlight entirely, creating before it a shadow that stretched far across the battlefield. Its weight was great enough to shatter the island and defeat every fighter in its path with one swift blow. The flames of its twilight mask trailed in eerie swirls, and from its being there came a great and otherworldly roar. Whatever purpose this colossus served could be nothing other than malicious.

The very presence of the giant should have been enough to cause an explosion of frantic cries from the crowd of smashers below, but a choking silence rolled through the air instead. Although fear might have frozen some in place, all of the smashers were filled with awe at the monolith before them.

Fox was the first to mutter something: "Darnit, I should've snuck the blaster in with me after all!" Others around him grudgingly echoed his sentiment to themselves. If only the giant hadn't attacked on Rostering Day!

Still no one dared to make the first move. Fight? Or flee? After all, many lacked offensive abilities, much less offensive abilities that would be useful against a mass of solid rock.

Marth grit his teeth—ten seconds of doing nothing was ten seconds too many.

There was a stack of platforms off to the side. They would eventually become extra fighting grounds above the stage for smashers to use in competition, but they served no other purpose—except, as Marth saw it, they could be a makeshift dais.

With a deep breath, he climbed onto the stack as swiftly as he could. If no one was going to prompt action, he would.

The colossus looked immobile for now, but it likely wouldn't be for long. He would have to be as succinct as possible. His voice boomed at the crowd: "Smashers!"

Only those nearest him took notice. Mario happened to be one of them, so he let out a long _yahoo_ , jumping on top of the dais. This time, all of the smashers heard the call, and there was a ripple of movement as the group set their eyes on the plumber. Mario tipped his red hat towards Marth, then hopped off with a cheeky, "All yours now!"

"Right—thank you, Mario," said the prince, and he cleared his throat, turning to his audience. "All of you—will you not move? Take up arms and fight!"

Some of the crowd looked to the giant again. The Trainer focused her vision, assessing the sight before her. She made no hesitation to voice an approximation of concern: "Inadequate weaponry against a basic geological form, barely structured to resemble a humanoid being, creates battle to be an impetuous situation."

Rosalina had been listening to her among the confusion of the others. "I believe," she offered generously, "the idea was that many of us are not quite, ah, _ready_ for a large-scale battle…not in this vulnerable state."

Some of the crowd began to back away from the dais. Marth himself had foregone bringing his sword with him, much like many others who were asked to come unarmed. The colossus—now beginning to rumble within itself, as if beginning to stir from its midair suspension—was made of fortified stone, which meant the prince would sooner break his weapon than begin to make a single dent.

Even so— _Don't lose them now!—_ he appealed to them again. "I have a plan! If—if you would all listen—" Those who were beginning to depart from him had stopped, turning their gazes to him. Marth opened his mouth, allowed the stream of consciousness to filter through his mind, searching for the plan that would assemble for him to follow.

He found nothing of use to say. "I... think we should..." But the seconds were falling like a landslide, and it would bring with it the meager influence he'd managed to scrape. "I think we should still fight," he said, thinking, _Plan! I got up without a plan!_ "I know not all of us can battle at the moment, but many of us are already equipped with natural abilities." He made a sharp sweep of the arm towards the rock colossus. "Ones that can fend that off, or at least stop it from fulfilling whatever destruction it's going to bring!"

"Then what about us?" Samus exclaimed, offended. "Stand around and be rock pulp?"

"Obviously not," the prince shot back. "You should—you should..." and the plan began to unearth itself, but only by its raised his voice again: "You should hurry! Those of you who are unarmed—or wielding inadequate weapons, I suppose—must get back on the Express immediately—" The train still hovered at the loading dock, oddly peaceful against the rising danger nearby. "—otherwise, you are to assemble yourselves here. Wait for my order to move out!"

Some of the smashers began to regroup themselves, finding little to argue against. Marth wiped the sweat from his brow and let out a long sigh.

Meta Knight flew over to the prince, keeping himself aloft in the air. "You know, that giant is probably twice as tall as the Halberd," he said. "You're taking up quite a bit."

The masked swordsman had sounded concerned, but his words threatened to break the already-thin ice Marth had established. "You don't have to tell me this is nothing like training smashers." Marth kept his tense expression turned away. "Besides—" he suddenly barked, " _Fighters, the giant! It may move any second!"_ Then, continuing at his normal volume, "—you should know yourself how I can handle a giant. Especially ones more complex than whatever this mockery is."

Meta Knight narrowed his glowing eyes, as if the counterargument could be found written very clearly on Marth's face. "Very well. Aside from the matter of handling it, we must also send distress signals about it to the Hive Citadel and, more importantly, straight to the Coliseum. Who knows what else this giant is bringing?"

"I had been thinking that too," Marth said, even though it was far from true. "Which is why I hope you'll manage that to the best of your ability."

"Then I'll do that and possibly re-arm anyone who will board the train—if history proves itself right, this is just an ill-timed break through the borders. I'll do your group a favor by bringing the Halberd straight here as soon as possible."

"All right. Take care of the Express," Marth replied with a nod, still avoidant of eye contact. He heard the purple Dimensional Cape whirl round, and Meta Knight was gone. The masked swordsman reappeared near the edge of the battlefield, and there was a flurry of movement as the smashers separated.

Soon there was a smaller crowd gathered in front of the dais. Mario, Luigi, and Kirby stood at the forefront with the princesses Peach and Zelda positioned a little behind them. Pikachu had rallied its fellow pokémon and stood alert on the much larger Charizard's head. Lucario and Greninja stood by the fire lizard, one on each side. To their left, Rosalina had summoned her star-child Luma, and they stood together with the Trainer, Pac-Man, Little Mac, and Mega Man.

Zelda glanced around her. "Ready yourselves!" she called.

Most of the chatters died down. "At your command, Prince," said Peach.

Marth nodded at her, flashing a smile. So far, an acceptable outcome. Now came the real challenge.

 _Rational. I have to think rational._ Marth freed himself of all thoughts but those of the strategies of battle. He knew how to generalize orders—albeit his target was usually something less menacing like straw dummies or a common monster. A broad approach seemed like a good start—and he raised his voice again: "Long Range, look for weak points! Pokémon will attack the upper half! Close-ranged combat will be with me! We'll attack it at the legs!"

"Oh no!" Luigi shouted. "It's coming down!" The giant had indeed begun to descend. It sank through the air slowly, almost carefully, as if gravity was a force it opposed every second it was airborne. The rest of the fighters watched the prince with bated breath.

Commands needed to be simpler. "Be careful!" Marth dictated, reciting a rhetoric well-memorized. "Aim only to weaken or disable it! Combine your strengths!" The stone titan landed with a quaking _thud_ at the farther end of the island. Many of the fighters' stances faltered from the ground tremors.

Marth made his way ahead to the front of the battle lines. He'd said all he needed to say, at least for now. He raised his right arm. A few moments of nothing but a deep silence stretched seconds into countless moments.

The titan remained still. Many fighters tensed, filling themselves with adrenaline.

Then, it _roared_ with great ferocity. "MOVE! NOW!" Marth swung his outstretched arm outwards, and, with a great cry, the fighters charged.

* * *

Meanwhile, on the light bridge, someone continued to cry loudly.

"Oh no, no, no…" Samus murmured to herself, wincing at the sobs she heard. She, along with many other smashers, had been following Meta Knight away from the clash with the giant.

The reasons for fleeing varied among the group: many lacked their weapons, others found themselves at a disadvantage against the stone giant, armed or not, and some simply preferred not to get involved.

Donkey Kong was somewhere in the middle of the mob with his nephew Diddy Kong on his back. Diddy turned his head once the loud screaming began to die down behind him.

A small figure had been left in the dust: the villager. He was still yelling at the top of his lungs. For the small smasher, it was extremely exhausting keeping up with even the rear of the group, and the distance grew with every frantic step in his run across the light bridge. Diddy tapped Donkey Kong on the shoulder, signaling the larger of the two to head back.

Samus looked behind her. Donkey Kong had scooped the villager up with a large arm and was now ferrying him back within the pack; the boy had been soothed by Diddy, but, judging by the shaking that was even visible from afar, just barely so. Turning her attention forward again, she said to herself, "These guys are the best in the leagues. It feels almost wrong to waste all this potential."

Ike, happening to hear the remark, quickened himself to run parallel to her. "You're telling me," he said.

"Hey, Samus!" Another figure ran up alongside the two. A dim, golden glow encompassed his left hand. "Want to head back with me over there?"

Samus blinked. "Seriously, Link?" she huffed. The loading dock got closer by the second. "What was the point of running here, then?" She slowed to a walk anyway, and the rest of the pack began to brush past. Ike, still subconsciously matching her pace, stayed behind with her.

Link shrugged. "My bad. I only checked my inventory a few moments ago." He raised his eyebrows expectantly at her, still optimistic. "Well?"

Samus gave him an accusing look.

"Uh, that's okay if you don't want to." He grinned weakly. "But you're someone who knows her way around explosives. No power-suit needed." Then, Link's eyes brightened. "Oh, yeah, I guess you totally don't have to, then! Maybe this guy can do it," he said, pointing to Ike.

"Wait, what—" the mercenary said, suddenly realizing where he was.

"You might as well just be asking everyone instead of me, then," said Samus.

"Ah, well," Link replied, shrugging mellowly. "You got me there. I just assumed you might be up for it."

The Express was now beginning to fill with its first passengers. Images of the villager being an inconsolable mess kept flooding Samus' mind, and she shook her head, unable to turn away. "Not this time. I'd rather stay with the rest of these guys." She charged some power into her boots before bounding great leaps into the first train car.

From the window, she saw Link nodding at her, saluting. "We'll be back!" she cried. She saluted back at both him and Ike before she felt a rumble ripple through the train floor. "Uh oh. Looks like it'll leave any moment. Stay safe!"

"Wait—" Ike said, hoping he hadn't heard Samus wrong. The end of the dock was still so far away! "I have to—" But the train whistle sounded, soon joined by the hiss of the engines: a ringing and rumbling that faded mumbles, as the Smash Express turned round and soared away from the scene.

When the Express had become a small dot in the distance, Link stretched his arms over his head. "Well! There goes your chance at escape if you still wanted to go." He swiveled around on his boots and snapped his fingers. A small orb of light appeared over his still-glowing hand, appearing to levitate for a few moments. Then it grew larger, losing its white shine, and it split into two shapeless blobs, materializing into a bow and an arrow-filled quiver.

The golden glow faded away. "Ike, right?" Link asked with a mild interest, fastening the quiver to his back. Slinging the strap diagonally over himself, he continued. "Sorry I forgot your name earlier. It just means we've talked less than a few times—" the two of them heard a low, menacing rumble from somewhere in the distance, "—now seems like a perfect opportunity to get acquainted, huh?"

"I…" Ike hadn't moved since watching the train leave. _No, no, no, no, no_. What was it he promised about not getting into any kind of trouble again? "Do you… do you realize you just made me miss my—my only chance of getting back home?"

"Did I?" the Hylian said, lowering his brows. A few beats of silence passed. "Oh. Uh… sorry. I didn't think you were in such a hurry."

 _I can still leave,_ Ike thought. _They'll be safe until then._ He stepped back. "No, no, it's fine. Don't even apologize. I'll… manage. It's more my fault than anyone's."

"I mean, I can try to call for—"

Again, _no, no, no_. No worrying. "Okay, first of all, I can get the help I need by myself. And second, I don't want to be standing nearby if you get caughtwith _that_." He pointed to the bow in Link's grip. He'd noticed its bright blue limbs, golden accents adorning it; a sacred halo seemed to surround its being. The bow was definitely custom-made for the swordsman, and it was magnificent. It was also definitely not supposed to be there, just like Ike was not supposed to be here. He shook his head as if to dismiss the topic. "Whatever. I don't need to know."

He could hear Link laugh to himself, although he seemed more relieved than amused. "Okay, if you say so. I'm going to move on back, though. That big rock monster's not going to wait for anyone."

Ike grit his teeth. "Don't really want to wait for it either. I _was_ trying to get away from it, if you haven't understood that yet."

"I understand perfectly well, thanks. But, uh, that option's closed off now, so… what are you going to do?"

"Well, I—" but Ike realized his choices were severely limited, and he didn't feel very useful doing nothing, so he sighed. "… You said you had a plan?"

Link's eyes lit up. "So that's a yes? I mean, I was brainstorming this hoping to ask someone a bit more light on their feet, but the idea's flexible enough not to fall apart. It's also not really that much of an active job, and I know especially that I wouldn't want to do anything I felt like I _had_ to—"

Ike stopped him with an outstretched arm. "Yeah. Okay. If it'll help bring that thing down faster, I'll pitch in. Clearly I don't have anything better to do, since you did strand me here and all."

"Great!" Link said. "It'll be fun!"

"Fun," Ike repeated sarcastically. "Is cheating the system and ruining people's days also fun?"

"What—this?" Link pointed to his bow. "Report me if you want, but I swear it was an accident," he said. "But, then again, I do ruin people's days for a living."

"Don't mock me."

Link started to head back towards the light bridge. "Sorry, I'll be serious now. You almost reminded me of Mar."

"Marth?" Ike trailed some distance behind. "Gods, no. The last person I'd ever want to be like," he said, sounding insulted.

"Believe me, you're not him." Link noticed the faraway echoes of clashes and yells starting to seep their way through the air. "Anyway, about the Index. My old bow must've been left behind when I dumped everything into the archives. How often do _you_ use it for storing weapons?—or are you one of those people that just use it for aether-net stuff?"

Ike looked down. "Uh. Well—I don't really make use of it for much else other than storing Ragnell." There was an uncertain pause. "My broadsword, I mean."

"You name your sword, huh." A great tremor echoed from the island on the other side. The two swordsmen broke into a run, Link allowing Ike to hurry alongside him. Explaining needed to be now: "Sounds like something I can ask about later. I said I needed someone who can handle explosives. Do you know how to handle bombs?"

Ike knit his eyebrows at the Hylian. "Uh. I'm familiar with them, I think. What, do you—" Ike was cut off when Link waved his hand and held something—small, round and plated with a dark metal—in front of Ike's face. "You do."

He took the explosive and held it snugly in one arm, though he had trouble keeping his eyes off it. It felt much too crudely made, like the metal was a misstep away from falling apart, and to Ike it had absolutely _no_ business being a proper bomb. "These the same kinds you use in tournaments?"

"Yeah, but why do—" Link saw that they were coming closer to the island. "They work. Trust me. It's really just lighting them! Only needs a quick flick of the fuse. Maybe you can toss 'em if you feel like it." He let out a short _hmm_ , studying the bomb in Ike's possession. "You definitely have a good throw, yeah?" Link had said it as if he'd known the other swordsman for years.

Looking at his arms, Ike scoffed. "You can't just judge a book by its cover."

"My bad. I tend to remember people before their names, though," said Link, unabashed. "And I _do_ know from those matches you've been in that you're pretty strong. Right?" A loud roar erupted from the colossus. "Anyway, since you don't have Ragdoll—"

"Ragnell."

"Since you don't have _Ragnell_ ," Link corrected himself, "you, um, might be able to help out with your new bomb supply."

"Wait." Ike narrowed his eyes, as if incredulous of what he'd just heard. "You want me to just light these and throw them at that thing?"

"No no, I said if you _felt_ like it. You'll see! You won't believe how good these bombs are at destroying boulders."

"What _is_ there to see?" Ike pressed defiantly. "This is child's play! You can't be thinking this is some game of—"

Link turned with a sudden energy that was fierce enough to make Ike fall silent. "Seriously. Relax. So what if you're not on that train? It'll come back."

Ike knit his brows, hesitating to respond. "I'm fine."

"Then come on!" Link continued onwards with more urgency. "That giant's still at large!" The two of them had stepped onto the island by now and were headed to the nearest piece of fallen rubble that could serve as cover.

There was a broken piece of a wall a short dash ahead; once they'd gotten there and crouched low, Link peered over the top. "Ancients, that thing looks like it got scarier." He motioned for the mercenary to hand the bomb over.

Link retrieved an arrow from his quiver, and wrapped the fuse around it, looping the string into a knot at the base of the arrowhead. He tied slowly and deliberately as Ike watched; once would be enough of an explanation. "This half of the partnership is basically just what I did, but while moving a lot, maybe—being a lookout, too, I guess. Like I said, it's not much, but, considering your situation, it'll pass the time." He finished with another knot. The bomb now dangled freely from the arrow; much to Ike's surprise, it stayed sturdy despite the added weight. "Still in?"

Quick knots and quicker maneuvers. "And this is fun," Ike said.

"Your call."

Ike had started to wonder if the unsettlement boiling in the pit of his stomach was that obvious. He wasn't sure whether to smile in thanks or frown in worry. "Well, compared to other stuff I've done, it sounds like a cakewalk," Ike mused. "Just don't give me the bow."

"You got it," Link replied, beaming. His hand glowed, and in the next instant, there was a patchwork bag in his grip, tied shut at the top with string. He handed the bag to Ike. "And the operation is on. Let's go!"

* * *

Further ahead, Princess Zelda stood in the wake of Din's Fire. Wide swaths of magic burned fiercely across the titan's rubble legs, and with all her will Zelda prayed to see the stone disintegrate to ash. But, like all her previous attempts, the flames soon faded into a billow of smoke. The titan continued to swing its massive arms at attackers in the air, seemingly oblivious to anything happening at its feet.

"It's made of stone," she muttered. "Of course this wouldn't have worked." Feeling the frustration melt into rage, she ignited her hands with magic once more. "But, by the great goddesses, we cannot lose here." There had to be some other method of attack, something more abstract than brute force.

She saw Pikachu nearby, darting around with nervous electricity crackling in its fur. Perhaps she could focus her efforts elsewhere. The flames on her hands blew away as she called, "Peach! Could you help Pikachu gain altitude? Many of the others seem to be occupied."

"Oh? Oh! Of course!" The other princess quickly Indexed whatever she had been holding (which, to Zelda, looked like a large, white turnip) and promptly brought out her frilled parasol, calling Pikachu to her. With a _zip_ of electrical energy, the yellow pokémon was at Peach's side. She took it in her free arm and, using the forward momentum from her run, made a great leap into the air while letting her parasol spring open.

Peach's parasol allowed her to rise to great heights easily—the princess and the pokémon were now face to face with the colossus's right shoulder. "Ready!" Peach warned. Pikachu arched its back, preparing an attack. She released her hold on the pokémon, and it fell through the air for a few seconds before bursting forward, propelling itself toward proper footing on the stone soldier. Then Peach floated down, twirling with ease as she landed next to Zelda.

"There," she said. "Anything else?"

"Hmm. If you could get me to safer ground, I would be grateful," Zelda answered thoughtfully. "I realized I'll have to stop acting and start thinking. Perhaps even thinking of the trump card."

"That sounds exciting." Peach giggled. "Okay, then. All you have to do is hold on!" Then she took hold of Zelda's hand and used her parasol to leap great heights once more.

Up on the giant's head, another pokémon, Lucario, was hunched behind the mask of violet flame. The giant's attempts to throw him off were growing increasingly violent; even with all of his lithe dexterity, Lucario had to dig his claws deep into the cracked stone to keep what little footing there was.

He'd been repeating the same attack on the rock for some time now: he drew one paw back, then thrust it downwards into the rubble, letting loose a burst of energy that exploded in a small radius around it. The immediate area blasted away, revealing nothing else but more stone. While he hadn't caused the titan a great deal of damage, the burst had allowed himself a chance to look for weak points.

He struck the same area again and closed his eyes. The world around him appeared as blue and violet flames: aura, the essence of vitality. A wave shot through the titan that traced every ridge and crevice of its construction. His aura sight confirmed it was indeed a haphazard construction of ruins, and that, mysteriously, no spark of life was animating it.

But then something flickered for a moment in the great emptiness of its core. A light, small and faded, flashed once—then nothing but darkness once more.

The pokémon blinked his ruby eyes. He gazed out at the arms of the titan lunging forward at Charizard, who expertly flew out of its reach and retaliated with a stream of red-hot flames from its mouth. He saw Greninja hopping from one massive shoulder to the other, bringing down tens of large water shuriken at a time, attempting to slice its way through the giant's limbs. Pikachu, too, was helping both pokémon by zipping about at great speeds, acting as a beacon for them to focus their attacks on. So far, some of the rock had crumbled away, but it was barely enough to be called a breach in the colossus's defenses.

"And the breach," Zelda said, shaking her head, "seems to be something I can't analyze."

Peach had brought her to a stable pile of rock a short distance away from the bulk of the fighting. Zelda turned to her now, and continued, "The giant's structure is… something I've never seen before."

"What do you mean?" Peach questioned.

Zelda focused her magic again. A trinity of triangles—the symbol of the Triforce—shone as a golden emblem on her right hand. "It's made of the very material of the earth. But I see no spell or magical puppet strings allowing it to move. And the twilight fire that's on its face… I sense nothing in that, either. It is as if there is a… _void_. What could—"

Then she saw Lucario leaping off the giant's head, its aura now blazing a bright blue.

"That's it!" Zelda exclaimed, and she read over the giant's form again, this time adjusting her focus. And— _yes_! The giant appeared the same as before to her, but now, floating in what she had thought to be empty, was… "The giant isn't controlled by magic. It's magic itself!"

Peach tilted her head. "I don't think I follow. Didn't you say it's just rocks?"

"I did, but…" Zelda's face grew dim. She looked to the colossus with furrowed brows. "I can't explain now. We have to redirect our attack power as soon as possible." Her eyes widened as she recognized Lucario heading to where Marth was on the battlefield. "And not a moment too soon! Hurry! This battle won't see our defeat yet."

Marth paced relentlessly across the battlefield grounds. He'd gotten this far, but the results were an array of tiring fighters and a colossus looking sturdy as ever. It was becoming increasingly difficult to think ahead—every way his plan branched led him and the other smashers deeper into failure. Was this the extent of his abilities? The limit of their power?

"Rhythm! Strike harder with each blow!" He stood amidst the rest of the fighters who were retreating and charging forward, ebbing and flowing with constant barrages on the colossus. His gaze swept over the fighters attacking the giant's massive legs and feet.

His eyes shifted to the right: "Mario! Luigi! Less fire! More physical hits!"

To the left: "Pac-Man! Aim higher! Trainer and Mac are taking care of the heel!"

He lifted his head, surveying the giant's torso. "Mega Man! Pick a spot and stick with it! Princess Rosalina and Kirby will be—"

A rush of wind blew past Marth, and Lucario was suddenly next to him. The pokémon's telepathic abilities allowed him to echo a voice into the other's mind: " _Commander Prince_."

Marth's gaze remained unbroken, though he hesitated to respond. He lowered his voice, but not by much, since it was hard to be heard in the midst of the battle: "What is it?" Then, almost as soon as he had spoken, there was a bright flash of light at his other side.

He stepped away in surprise, but before he could ask _who's there_ he noticed the wind had carried an earthly scent like wild grass—and that could have only been magic from one particular princess.

"Zelda," Marth said dourly. "You also have something important to say?"

Lucario quietly stepped aside to let her come forward, but Zelda turned to the pokémon anyway, and asked, "You. What has your aura reading procured?"

Lucario nodded, lifting his paw. A blue, nebulous fire kindled around it. "The heap of ruins before us has barely a trace of aura and I am unable to determine what kind of magic is animating it. It is purely made out of stone… except for one spot of life in the very core of its body. I haven't been able to sense anything else."

Marth was silent for a few moments. He saw the giant lift its foot slowly, leaning to one side. The foot came crashing down. Mario jumped well out of the giant's way, pulling Luigi along with him. "That would be within its stomach?" Marth said. "If you can call it that."

"At the very center, as most things of this sort are."

"No," Zelda spoke. "Aim higher. What you saw was the heart—where the heart would beat if this monster were real."

Lucario's eyes flashed yellow. "But the only vital point is…"

"Right at the center, I am aware. Except the giant is near-impenetrable—Marth," Zelda said, prodding him to give her his attention. "I repeat. Aim higher. I've seen a crack in the magical defenses that will lead us to destroying the heart."

"And you're sure of this?" Marth said to her.

"I am. Unless you wish to doubt Wisdom itself?"

Lucario narrowed his eyes. "There _is_ a small fissure in the area Princess Zelda speaks of. But I had previously assumed it to be a side effect of the structure it chose to build itself with."

"I don't know whether it is our doing, or if it serves some personal purpose, or if it is indeed just as Lucario has said." Zelda stepped directly in front of Marth so that they stood face-to-face. "But we must act now. Let me guide them where to direct their attacks."

Marth quickly shook his head. "I don't need to yield authority for something so simple." His voice took on an oddly defensive tone. "Can you handle not upstaging me just once?"

Zelda's expression was serious. "Forget your personal convictions and think of what you're doing, Marth. The battle has to end _soon_."

She was right—right as she always had been for years, and that was what had irritated Marth so deeply. "Fine," he grumbled. "But I remain at the forefront."

Zelda smiled, faintly smug. "I won't stop you."

Marth turned to Lucario. "Shall I?"

The pokémon nodded. Then Marth inhaled sharply, and he prepared to return his voice to its former booming volume.

Whatever command he was going to give was interrupted with a seemingly bulbous arrow narrowly missing his head. It flew at an upwards angle, straight towards the giant's torso. Upon impact, a loud explosion _boomed_ in a wide flash of reds and yellows.

The titan rocked backwards, then forwards. It heaved a lengthy bellow; Marth took the opportunity to whip around. " _Can you—_ " Upon recognizing the two fighters behind him, his voice lost its fury, and instead fell to a muttering. "Of all the people he's dragged with him."

Ike was handing Link another bomb arrow. The latter of the two noticed the icy glare first. "Calm down, Prancy Pants. I knew you weren't going to get hit," said Link. He loaded the arrow into his bow. "Excuse the lateness. Any orders for us—oh!" He waved. "Hi, Zelda!"

Zelda looked down behind her. "Considering the lack of proper direction, you might as well be considered early."

"So, uh," said Ike, staring at the battle in the distance. "You're having a bit of trouble here, Marth?"

"I assure you, Ike. I'm doing fine. Just fine." Marth turned to the pokémon next to him with an expression that was contorted into some kind of disgruntled frown. "How long were they there?"

"Not too long," Lucario replied, "but I felt no need to warn you."

"Hm," Marth scoffed. He glanced at the two fighters below him again. "If you two would, I'm about to give an order. A proper one. And hopefully one of the last ones—" He faced the colossus once more, and barked, "HALT! Retreat to base! Retreat to base!"

Mega Man heard first, and he immediately mirrored the command to Rosalina with her Luma and Kirby, who notified Pac-Man and the Trainer—one by one, the fighters ceased their attacks and gathered in front of the prince. Each of them warily watched the colossus, who began to lift its knee as if preparing to walk.

It was moving straight towards them! Marth's next command needed to be concise and direct: "Straight to the heart! We must hit it there!" He waited for the others to ready their attacks.

He had two seconds to decide what to say next. He looked ahead, where the monster had yet to finish its first step, and behind, where the other smashers had given him all their attention, Zelda included.

And he dared. "I've… I've learned of a weak point. There is a break—three paces high of the very center!"

Ike and Link moved to the back of the group in the brief silence, with the Hylian muttering, "He sure is living the dream."

As Ike moved past he watched Marth with widened eyes. "Wait a minute, weren't you supposed to let—"

"Ready—CHARGE!" Marth yelled, and the fighters unleashed their power once more. The monster's torso was barraged with burst after burst of energy, blasts of bombs, flares of fire, torrents of water—up close, fist after fist and strike after strike pelted the stone and rubble.

He took glances around him while standing in the midst of the rest of the mob. Pikachu shot white-hot shots of electricity. Mario and Luigi took turns assaulting the titan with spin attacks. He looked back at the colossus. Everyone's combined efforts had stopped it in its tracks, pushing it backwards, and its legs began to carry it back step by harrowing step.

Every single fighter struck out and charged forward again, and again, becoming almost robotic in their motions but remaining at the height of their desire to press on. Marth broke into a proud grin. Finally, he was leading them forward!

But, in the same second, his grin crumpled. Something had knocked him down, leaving blackened scorch marks on one side of his face. It took him a few moments to recover his senses, and he groaned painfully as he stood.

Zelda was standing before him, her expression devoid of emotion. She dispelled the fire from her hands. "Did I not ask you to let me direct them? Did you not agree?"

"Yes," Marth replied. He lifted a hand to his head to assess the damage, wincing at the feeling of brittle, withered skin.

"And?" Zelda's voice had suddenly become boomingly loud. Marth wasn't sure whether she had been using magic to do so.

"And…" Marth looked more annoyed than threatened. "That giant started to move. Then I adapted."

" _That_ is your reasoning?" Zelda cried incredulously. "For one thing, you cannot be sure if you've aimed at the right—" A sharp _crack_ rippled through the colossus's exterior. There was a high-pitched, grating shriek that barreled through the air; the colossus had whined.

Marth folded his arms with a triumphant smile, declining to look in Zelda's direction. "What were you going to say?"

Zelda saw a familiar pale light shimmer over his face—the effects of a regenerative magic native to all trophies. Though Marth's wounds were still there, the worst of them had already begun to heal. She inhaled sharply, considering using her fire once more, but she said nothing in response.

A bright light now shone through the broken rubble. From it, an endless stream of purple and black flames crawled across the colossal body, inch by inch. Even in the blaze's thickness the sliver of light shone ever brighter. The stone titan was at the far edge of the island now.

"HOLD!" Marth commanded. "Give it your all! Make the final shots count!" Again, the fighters charged their attacks, but this time they concentrated, focusing into it as much power as their stamina allowed them.

A deep breath passed. This was it. "FIRE!"

Everyone surged forward. They'd aimed directly at the colossus' heart again, shooting straight at nothing but the broken light—

Then, there was a bright flash. Suddenly, fighters flew back at the same speed they'd charged, and everything else meant to strike the titan _fizzed_ into nothing. As the smashers hurried to recollect themselves, the giant roared.

"It's a barrier!" Mega Man cried. Flames continued to lick the colossus' stone body. Indeed, there was a sphere of a faint red now circling it, glimmering with every hit. It appeared to be a wall of energy, impossible to break through.

Marth clenched his teeth. Of all times, why now? Not now! Not when they were so close—

"Quickly! Get back!" Zelda shouted. Marth was surprised to see her suddenly farther away on the battlefield, a little behind the crowd. " _Hurry!_ It's moving again!"

Everyone raised their heads upwards to see what she'd been warning about.

The colossus's head was rocking, shaking as if the body would shrug it off any moment and send it rolling towards the fighters, who backed away slowly just as the giant's body suddenly lurched.

Then its head jerked backwards. Its flame-mask began to wither, smothering the whites of its torchlight eyes. A deep and low thunder rumbled as stones and rocks broke away from each other and fell away down, down towards the clouds. The barrier surrounding it flickered out of sight.

Had they actually done it? "You heard her! Fall back! Fall back!" Marth yelled, and all of the fighters retreated towards the center of the island. They watched the colossus slowly crumble before them, its head rolling over backwards, roaring as it fell away. Then the rest of its body imploded, a multitude of broken ruin and rock tumbling over the edge of the floating island all at once.

Then, all was still. Marth watched the air with wide eyes, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, until slowly, silently, he brought his arm out to the side: a signal for the others to wait.

Seconds passed. No words were spoken. Only the sound of the wind remained.

"That's it," Zelda murmured.

"Oh, Great Founders…" Peach spoke softly. "I think we've won."

An immense, almost deafening, cheer rang throughout the island.

"I—I can't believe that worked!" Little Mac cried. "I thought we were done for!"

The Trainer nodded beside him. "Your disbelief is within reason. There was a minimal chance this result would occur."

Near them, Mega Man jumped in joy. "Yeah! I never thought my first ever battle would be like this!"

Ike stood wide-eyed amidst the cheer. "I don't think I've ever fought anything doing absolutely nothing and won."

"You sure did a great job," Link said to him, barely concealing the full brightness of his smile. "Thanks for sticking around."

Ike returned the smile, though it was considerably smaller. "Yeah. You too."

Mario and Luigi twirled and leapt triumphantly, exchanging hi-fives. Beside them, Kirby, Pac-Man, and Luma danced and cheered together, Rosalina's smile upon all of them silent but gentle.

Charizard flapped its wings, roaring, and Greninja trilled happily beside it. Pikachu hopped among them with bursts of electricity. Lucario, nodding proudly, echoed his telepathy towards his fellow pokémon: "Well done, everyone."

It all sounded as if the battlefield, with all its sudden energy, had been surrounded with spectators the whole time. Every smasher's heart swelled with pride in themselves and their peers. They were triumphant—and, like teammates, they came together with relieved sighs and happy exclamations.

There were, of course, questions. There sprung remarks of what a strange work of evil that had been; whispers of where such a thing could have come from; ponderings of what its sudden appearance foretold of the future. But no answer was definite enough to carry the weight of all the worry, and so many of the questions melted away, forgotten temporarily.

No, now was the time to celebrate—to bask in praise and to give it freely, and to be reminded of burning ever brighter when side by side and locked in combat. The sun shone at its apex in the sky, and the scene was once more peaceful and festive.

"Whoa—heeey! Incomiiiing!" a voice yelled.

Ike, having finally found some alone time, barely turned around when Pit crashed into him at full speed. The angel tumbled over Ike's head and landed some ways off, grunting loudly.

The Trainer, being the closest nearby, hurried to lift Pit up by one arm. "Your wings are on fire," she commented. Her artificial-sounding voice emanated no hint of alarm. "It is advised to douse them as soon as possible." Pit's wings were, indeed, engrossed in bright orange flames, but their heat hadn't left searing burns on his skin, nor had they even burned the fabric of his tunic. In fact, the Trainer noted, the fire was cool to the touch. "There are no established instructions for this kind of combustion. In this case, at least, your muscles must not exceed their limit."

Pit wobbled as she held him upright. "Urgh… no worries. I think? That's just a thing my wings do."

Ike sat up, bitterly rubbing one side of his face. "You're the angel... I thought you were on the train." He narrowed his eyes at Pit. "You do know the party's already over, right?"

Pit shifted himself around in the Trainer's grasp to see Ike's cross expression. " _FYI,_ I wasn't on the train. I—I had a party of my own to take care of, and, uh…" his voice faltered, as he had become aware of a small crowd of fighters nearing him, some of them voicing mild concern.

Deciding Ike wasn't worth dealing with, Pit stood straighter, straining to put on a stronger face. He thanked the Trainer and smiled through his teeth to the crowd once she had left him alone. "Hey there, folks! I'm back. I was just, uh, running late, temporary wings and all. Don't worry about me, just keep doing your thing!" To his relief, some of the small group began to disperse.

Only Rosalina, Mario, and Peach stayed behind. "Are you sure you're all right, dear?" Peach questioned. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"He did say he was going to see the committee," Rosalina said. "Perhaps…"

"Oh, no!" Mario cried, jumping forward. "Did the committee see what happened? Is everything a-okay?"

"Uh, well." Pit frowned. "Yes?" He shook his head quickly and craned his neck upwards as if searching for someone. "I mean, not to delay suspense or anything, but, uh, is Prince Marth anywhere on the field?"

"Over there." Rosalina pointed toward the titan's remains at the edge of the island. She gave him a worried glance. "I can see your expression is still ladled with fear."

Pit blinked hard a few times. He scrunched up his face—did he really seem that bad? "No, I'm just usually not, uh, late." He exhaled sharply. "Anyway, I've got to hurry over there before I… before I head back over to the Coliseum. Thanks for the help!"

Rosalina's expression softened. "You're quite welcome." She waved him goodbye, and Peach and Mario joined her a few beats after.

To Pit, their concern had mostly disappeared, which brought a wide grin to his face. "Thanks again! And take care, Princess Peach and Mario!" Returning the others' wave, he turned to leave.

As the angel dashed away towards the end of the island Ike observed him carefully. "Things just keep piling for me today," he muttered. Something was wrong. Very, very, wrong. The mercenary had seen many a liar put on bravado before, and Pit, who also owed him a proper apology, was no different.

The brief burst of adrenaline was already beginning to take its toll on Pit's legs; he was breathing hard when he reached Marth's side. "Hey, uh, sorry to bother you, Marth…" His voice faltered when he took in the sight before him: heaps of rocks and dirt strewn across the ground, some of the broken rubble washed over in a faint red glow.

Marth turned to the angel with raised brows. "Oh, Pit. News from the committee?"

"What happened here?" Pit asked breathlessly. "And what happened to your face?"

The prince glanced back at the giant's remains, subconsciously brushing his hand against his still-darkened burn marks. He made a mental note to get it fully healed later. "This… this monolith appeared out of nowhere. It became _this,_ " Marth gestured to the pile of ruin, "when we broke through it. The rest of it fell to the earth."

Pit picked up a rock to inspect its ghastly corona. His eyes went wide. "No way. This can't be…"

"Pit!" someone called. "Where the _heck_ have you been?" Both the angel and Marth turned to see Link heading towards them. His bow and quiver disintegrated into glowing dust as he moved.

Pit's gaze fell downwards. "Um."

"Right…" Marth said. "I've also been wondering that. You seem as if have something grave to say, Pit."

Link flicked his gaze between the other two, worry coming over his face. "Did... something else go wrong—Marth! Your face—"

"Ignore it. They're just minor, ah…" Marth winced. " _Royal pains_."

"By that, you mean…" Link raised his eyebrows at him.

Before Marth could reply Pit lifted his head again. "I'm, uh, on a mission, you know. It's kind of a lot to explain and it's a _liiiiiittle_ top secret."

"So am I to speak with you privately?" Marth asked.

Pit nodded.

"What? Privately?" Link took a step back. "Pit, you look like you've been to the gates of The Vault and lived to tell the story and—" he paused, realizing he'd raised his voice. "It's not something really bad, is it? Like… another world takeover."

Pit smiled, but the distress slowly setting into his expression was clear. "Not _exactly_ another world takeover," he admitted. "Yet."


End file.
